golden-brown eyes of his looked sincere. Concerned. Kind.
But why had he suddenly appeared so troubled?
It didn’t matter. She would never know him well enough to find out. The only thing that counted now was survival.
Survival for Polly and Laurel Black.
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, sitting on the stiff, ancient leather chair in his medical center office, Reeve tried to go over some of his insurance billings. But his mind wasn’t on preferred providers and allowed amounts and deductibles.
It was on the woman in the building next door, whom he had last seen that morning. Polly Black.
From what he had heard, the records office hadn’t been able to find her family from the scanty information on her ID. Had she contacted her husband yet? Even now, a frantic man could be on his way here from some unknown town, scared to death about the condition of his wife and baby.
Reeve could identify with him.
So much so, in fact, that he had to know. “Donna!” he called to his receptionist as he hurried down the hall. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“But—”
He didn’t stay to hear her objection.
The door to Polly’s room was partly closed. He knocked.
“Come in.” Her voice was stronger now, healthy. Feminine, yet not too high or shrill. A pretty voice. Reeve wondered how it would sound singing lullabies to her baby.
He pushed the door open. “Hello, Polly. I—” He stopped.
The hospital bed had been mechanically cranked up to support her back as she sat. She held the baby at her side, its tiny head against her small, firm breast as it suckled.
Though he took care of both adults and children, this kind of scene was one he seldom viewed. He felt embarrassed at interrupting such a private, intimate moment. But only for a second, for then a rush of tenderness and something else Reeve could not immediately identify swept through him, and he found himself clutching the door frame for support.
Loss. Sorrow. He realized anew that this woman, her accident and her baby evoked emotions he thought he had put behind him long ago.
“Hi, Dr. Snyder.” Thankfully, Polly’s words interrupted his bleak musings. Apparently flustered, she quickly maneuvered a blanket over the baby’s head to cover herself. Chewing her bottom lip with small, even teeth, she looked at Reeve expectantly, as though waiting for him to take her pulse or ask how she was feeling.
Of course she would consider him just another of the hospital crew parading through her room to check on her welfare. “Hi, Polly. I’m here to see how the baby is doing.”
For a moment, a hurt look passed over Polly’s pretty but bruised face. “She’s doing fine.” Her tone was bright, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
Had she hoped he was here to see her? The idea pleased him, and he felt his lips twitch toward a grin. He was here to see her as well as her child. He cared about her welfare, too.
Professionally, of course. That was all.
“I’m a primary care doctor, Polly,” he said gently. “You’ve been assigned Dr. Fletcher as your obstetrician. If it is all right with you, I’ll be your baby’s doctor while you’re here.”
“Oh. Of course. I’d like that.” She smiled then. Though Polly was still pale enough for her complexion to contrast starkly with her short, black hair, her color had improved. Her eyes were the soft gray of dove feathers, and they regarded him with a warmth that stirred ashes cooled long ago deep inside him. “I can’t imagine a better doctor for Laurel. That’s her name, you know. You’ve done so much for us already, Dr. Snyder.”
“Reeve,” he said. “This is a small town, and we go by first names here.” Not always, of course. But he somehow didn’t like the distance that “doctor” put between them.
“Reeve,” she repeated softly. The melodic sound of the single syllable tripping off her tongue made him want to request an encore. He took an involuntary step toward the bed, and his eyes met Polly’s soft, gray stare for an infinite, exquisite instant. He felt his pulse pound in his veins, wondered if he should grab a cuff to see how elevated his blood pressure had become.
The baby began to cry. Reeve welcomed—and cursed—the interruption.
“Shh,” Polly crooned softly. She cradled little Laurel, maneuvering the blanket over the flimsy hospital gown—but not before Reeve got another glimpse of an exposed curve of breast. The sight sent a wave of heat immediately to his groin.
What was wrong with him? Even if he hadn’t been here as her doctor, he was a professional.
Polly cuddled the tiny, swaddled body close. “Hush, Laurel,” she pleaded. “You’re all right, little one.” As the baby’s wails grew more frantic, Polly looked helplessly at Reeve. This was probably her first baby, and the new mother was still a neophyte. She didn’t look very old, after all—maybe midtwenties. Her complexion was nearly as smooth as her daughter’s, and despite the bump on her forehead she didn’t need any makeup to appear beautiful. Her nose was narrow and perfect, her eyes large with a thick fringe of lashes, her mouth just a little too wide.
“Here,” Reeve said. He repositioned the infant on Polly’s shoulder, then patted the baby’s back gently. The receiving blanket was a soft spun acrylic, warm from being against Polly and her daughter. In a moment, Laurel gave a small burp.
Polly laughed. It was a relieved, merry sound that made Reeve’s heart fill. “I should have figured that out.”
“You will the next time.” Reeve hesitated. “I imagine one of the staff has already gone over this with you, but I understand they weren’t able to locate your family. Can we call someone for you?” Your husband, he wanted to ask. Where is he, and why did he let you travel alone when you were so close to term?
She blanched as white as the sheet behind her, and her gray eyes grew as round and frightened as a captive doe’s. “You can’t.” She sounded almost frantic. Then her lips curled in an unsuccessful attempt at a smile. Her voice was much calmer. Even. Too even, as though she were reciting a memorized line. “Actually, I don’t have any family to notify. I was orphaned as a child, and my husband and I were divorced months ago because of my pregnancy.”
It didn’t take a psychiatrist’s credentials to know she was lying.
Reeve couldn’t breathe suddenly, as though someone had put a tourniquet around his windpipe. He felt his own color deepen. “I see. Well, good luck to you, Ms. Black.” He turned and strode toward the door. He had to get out of there.
It wasn’t his problem. Not this time. But he still felt as though he had been gut punched.
He heard a soft noise behind him, like someone crying.
None of his business, he told himself. But he found himself turning back as he reached the door.
Polly held her squirming baby against her. Tears ran down her cheeks beneath tightly shut eyes, and she was shuddering.
Reeve
